Tulsa police protect another killer.

Yes, a killer is loose. Five samples of his DNA and 21 of his fingerprints are in Tulsa police files 867819 and 11001. Three eyewitnesses all separately and independently saw him and each described him exactly alike, including the fact that he had short, brown hair, no glasses, glass slash scars on his left forearm and a huge puncture wound scar in his left palm from crashing through a storm door and leaping a chain link fence making his getaway. (link Scan7)

So, you may ask, "Why don't Tulsa police plug his prints and DNA into the nations criminal data network, take the name it will spit out, and go get him?" Only they know.

All this began with John Shelton and his buddy, the soon-to-become-killer. John was an older, career criminal and drug addict. He was wise in the ways to trade other criminals to the police in return for their letting him off light. John was teaching his young friend how to burglarize, steal, rob and deal drugs. He was also teaching Buddy how to sell the police the drug dealers they want so bad. Many times have John and Buddy sold other people down the river so that they could avoid prison themselves. Even after John had been caught robbing, stealing, beating women, threatening people with knives, burglarizing, drunk and doing drugs, police only gave him short sentences in their city-county jails because he was such a valuable snitch for them.

John got to be a trustee at the jail so often that he began to think the police would never send him to any real prison, no matter what he did. Buddy began to think the same thing. They'd go to jail, the police would make them trustee. The police would tell them which prisoners they wanted to get information from. They'd go talk to the targeted prisoner, find out what the police wanted to know, tell them, and get out of jail even quicker. Life was good and easy for John and Buddy. John and Buddy were having a drink together at the Top-Hat bar when things began to go bad for them. They were known to be violent and ruthless, and because of their reputation, a man with a problem was directed to them for help. He was being prosecuted by the Tulsa DA Fallis for selling obscene pornography. Every pornography dealer in Tulsa and Oklahoma City was being targeted by two DA's, who were both competing for the same higher government office.

Tulsa DA Fallis and Oklahoma City DA Coats both were using a public "crusade against porn" to obtain enough votes to become governor. DA Fallis and Tulsa Police were using another porn dealer to tell them which other of the porn business owners had the filthiest, most obscene porn. The association of porn dealers eventually figured out who was snitching them off and getting them fined thousands of dollars, years in prison and costing them thousands in lawyer fees: J. D. Hunt!

They decided it was time for Mr. Hunt to quit working for the Tulsa police. The porn dealers called Mr. Hunt and told him he'd better stop, or else. Mr. Hunt did not stop. The Tulsa police gave two choices: keep snitching or go to prison. He kept snitching. He'd check his car for bombs and was alert for gunmen, but he didn't want to go to prison, so he kept snitching for the only ones who said they could protect him: the Tulsa police officers . (link Scan1)

Because porn, prostitution, alcohol and drugs are always intertwined, the association knew Mr. Hunt had to die, else all their money, bars and bookstores would wind up in police hands. So they went shopping for killers and were directed to John and Buddy.

John was only going to take their money. He did. He stayed drunk for weeks on end, then got caught trying to steal more from a guy who was good enough to drive him to his prostitute's motel room.

Buddy was younger and more ignorant. Up to this time, he had never been arrested or fingerprinted. He knew he could do a "hit" as easy as he could do a burglary. The money was a lot, and they already had the perfect plan. Buddy was told where Mr. Hunt lived, who lived with him, what time everyone worked or went to school and how to get in their home unseen. All he had to do was get in, wait and blow Mr. Hunt's head off when he came back to his home; same plan as John had been told.

Buddy said, "Sure, I'll take care of it." The man from the porn association gave buddy a small untraceable .25 caliber automatic and only $500.00 as partial payment. He'd get $1500 more when he brought back the gun and the newspaper obituary notices said Mr. Hunt was dead.

First thing he did was check the Hunt's home and see what it looked like from all angles, see what their car looked like, see what he looked like, see what the neighborhood looked like, find a good place to hide his own car, and plot access and escape routes.

Buddy spent most of the day cruising slowly around the Hunt's home and through their neighborhood, getting familiar with the lines of sight, bushes, cars, windows and traffic. Since Buddy had been taught to pull daylight burglaries on homes who's occupants were at work, he felt very comfortable checking the home and planning the crime. He'd done this many times and had never gotten caught.

But this was different. This time he had made a contract with real criminals to murder someone. This had to go right . It had to be perfect. Buddy was going to make certain nothing could go wrong by knowing everything about the neighborhood.

While he was doing this, he attracted the attention of Ms. Candy Connors. She saw him driving around and around and around. She watched him gawking intently at everything in her neighborhood. She began to wonder what he could be up to. Each time he circled the block, she became more and more suspicious. She memorized his car, its color, his age, features, hair color and hair length and how long he'd spent circling the block. Finally she decided to get his tag number, but by that time he had seen her looking and decided not to circle back around.

Buddy had seen all there was to see. He decided his approach, exit, and where to hide his car. All he had to do was wait until tomorrow about 9 or 10 in the morning when he was sure the Hunt home was empty and most of the people in their neighborhood had gone to work.

The day came. The Hunt's left, Buddy came in to wait. While he waited, he decided to do his standard burglarization too. He found Mr. Hunt's own gun, fully loaded. It was a big western style magnum revolver with a 6 inch barrel. Since big guns kill better than little guns, Buddy decided to use Mr. Hunt's own gun to murder him.

Buddy heard Hunt's car drive up, so he hid beside the doorway to the kitchen, big gun cocked and ready to fire as soon as Mr. Hunt came into range. The back door unlocked and ready for him to bolt through to his quick, well planned escape, he nervously waited.

It seemed to take forever for him to hear the engine stop; even longer for the car door to slam shut. Buddy didn't think Mr. Hunt would ever get the key in the lock. He sweated a long time before finally he heard the door open and the old, pudgy porn dealer come puffing in to put a pile of packages onto the dining room table.

At that moment, Mr. Hunt saw Buddy's head poking around the kitchen doorway, looking at him. He began yelling questions at Buddy. At about the same time, Mr. Hunt's wife appeared, wondering what her husband was bellowing about. She watched in horror as her husband charged Buddy, trying to take the gun away from him. Buddy froze, ten remembered he had a gun to stop this big guy from stomping him. Mr. Hunt grabbed onto the gun before Buddy knew it. They struggled briefly for it before Buddy managed to pull the trigger. The gun fired once. There came a huge, thunderous explosion. Mr. Hunt was blown backwards onto the floor. Mrs. Hunt began shrieking and screaming. Buddy had not expected this. He panicked. The gun had been ripped out of his hand by Mr. Hunt and he took it to the floor with him. Mrs. Hunt kept staring at him and screaming. Mr. Hunt was trying to get the gun pointed at Buddy and fire. There was only one thing that leaped into Buddy's terror and horror filled mind: Escape! Run! Get away before someone comes to see what the blast and the high pitched shrieking is about! Run away before Mr. Hunt gets the gun aimed at him!

Buddy ran. He leaped to the back door and bashed through the glass of a storm door. The door stuck, it wouldn't open. Buddy was not kidding around. He hit the latch hard as he could. The glass broke and sliced a long bloody gash down his forearm. Blood came gushing out as the glass shards tinkled out onto the back stoop. But the door came open.

Buddy dashed across the back yard in such a panic that he didn't even feel the two sharp pointed steel spikes rip up his left palm as he leaped the chain link fence and galloped the five blocks to where his car was stashed. (See Tulsa police file 867819 picture 13258)

While Buddy was pounding down the sidewalks wondering if he was going go bleed to death and trying to see how badly he was hurt, he passed a woman sitting in her car, waiting for her kids to get out of elementary school. She saw he was tall, thin, young, and short neat brown hair, no glasses and a dimple in his chin. She also noticed his shoes, what type of shirt and pants he had on, and what color they were. All this she told to police minutes later, and even showed them how to draw a picture that looked like him.

Buddy got to his car and drove straight to John's apartment. They cleaned up Buddy's arm and went to give the gun back and collect the money. This took two days because they had to wait at the Top Hat bar again to contact Gene and Doug, the men from the association who had hired them. They were paid and they were warned. If they ever said anything to anyone, they would be killed. Gene and Doug knew where they lived, where their loved ones lived and what they drove. Also they had plenty of money to hire other vicious bar scum to murder them with.

John and Buddy went on another long party binge until the money ran out. Buddy made sure it ran out quick. He had John buy them a load of speed and alcohol, then Buddy took most of the drugs and all of the rest of his money and left the state to chase John's speed connection to California.

John woke up, found everything gone and got angry. He wound up in prison eventually. He spilled all he knew to his fellow prisoners about Buddy, leaving out certain identifying bits of information, just to be safe

The police searched for about 3 months trying to find the kid with the short, brown hair, slashed arm, gashed palm and no glasses. Since he was in California, the police couldn't find him. The fingerprints and blood they had were worthless: Buddy had not yet been fingerprinted. They could find no match in their computer. But they had to come up with somebody. The newspapers, television and radio muckrakers would not stop loudly wondering why the police weren't working miracles. 3 months of constant media whining gave a Tulsa policeman an idea.

Detective Sgt. Larry Johnson and officers Bill McDonald, Don Bell and Jerry McMillan had just been caught by attorney Howard Maddux beating people bloody in the secrecy of their police station. This lawyer found they'd beaten a "confession" out of an innocent boy. This and other of their vicious beatings were about to come into the light, and they had to especially get this innocent boy convicted of something. (link Scan3)

Sgt. Johnson noticed that if they simply hid all the fingerprints, blood and eyewitness descriptions and drawings of Mr. Hunt's killer, they could pin the crime on me, the innocent boy they had gotten caught pulverizing. All they had to do is intimidate Mrs. Hunt into "forgetting" that she had described and had police draw a boy with short, neat clean cut brown hair without glasses.

Mrs. Hunt was eager to "cooperate" with police, as all witness are. Detective Johnson easily manipulated Mrs. Hunt into forgetting what she saw and accepting what Johnson wanted her to say. Johnson got another officer to make her sign a statement calling me the killer. That was Jess McCullough. Mrs. Hunt was not fooled. She knows the police were selling her the wrong guy because she had seen the police splash my face all over the television and newspapers for two days right after her husband was killed. She saw that my hair was not brown and saw my hair was much too long and that I wore glasses. She did not call the police then because she knew I could not have been the killer. Only she and Johnson and McCullough know why and how they convinced her to lie me into prison instead of wait for the real killer to get back and caught. She decided that after 3 months of the police constantly bringing her more and more high-school yearbooks it was about time she picked somebody, even if it was the wrong somebody and she knew it. She was tired of these police harassing her, and what better way to get rid of them than to sign their paper against the one they wanted to pin it on anyway?

She gladly signed and went back to her business of selling pornographic filth to perverts and alcohol to drunks and barflies.

Meanwhile Johnson sent McCullough out to Mrs. Baker's home to make her sign a statement against me too. (All the "evidence" they need to legally nail a crime on anyone is only 2 people to point their finger s and shout, "That's him! I'm positive!")

Johnson and McCullough had especially concocted a picture of me in which they had removed my long hair and glasses (See Tulsa police dept. file 867819, picture 13570.) McCullough took this picture of me to Mrs. Baker and tried to trick her into signing his statement calling me the killer, same as he'd made Mrs. Hunt sign. This way, the two women couldn't change their stories back to the truth at trial.

But Mrs. Baker was a Christian lady, not from the underworld of vice and crime like Mrs. Hunt. She doesn't need police goodwill so she can continue to sell visual filth and alcohol. Also, she has an excellent memory. Mrs. Baker remembers seeing the killer. She also remembers seeing me in the media right after seeing the killer. She knows I am not him. She tells officer McCullough that he is trying to sell her the wrong person. She tells him that my hair was too long in the newspaper: the killer had short hair. She tells McCullough that my hair was longer than both the killer's hair and longer than the hair on the especially concocted picture of me he brought with him.

McCullough tries everything, even showing her Mrs. Hunt's signed statement against me. He tells her he "knows" I am the killer and tries to convince her she is "mistaken," and "not cooperating" and "should sign" because he and the police have information she doesn't know about which proves I did it, only they can't divulge this secret information.

Mrs. Baker is not fooled. She refuses to sign any paper for McCullough. McCullough finally gets the picture and leaves, seething mad. Usually everyone he and his badged buddies deal with quickly cave in to what ever they are attempting to do, but not Mrs. Baker.

McCullough runs over to Ms. Connors with his bogus picture and tries to trick her into signing. Ms. Connors takes one look and says, "No, that's not him." She refuses to sign too. She remembers seeing my too long, wrong color hair and glasses on television and tells McCullough he is after the wrong boy. He tries to make her believe she is mistaken, then accuses her of "not cooperating." All; standard police tricks that almost always work on everybody. Ms. Connors knows what she saw, described and taught police how to draw the killer. She tells McCullough to get out and find the real killer.

Boiling mad, McCullough curses Mrs. Baker and Ms. Connors while he runs back to his mentor, Johnson, and asks what to do. Both know they must make Baker or Connors testify against me in court some how. They both think hard how to get around my too-long, wrong-color hair and glasses for 27 days. Finally they do the only thing they can do: simply hide the issue just like they hid the blood, the fingerprints, the drawings and the descriptions.

This is exactly why police keep their investigations super secret: since nobody knows what the evidence is except them, they can change the evidence to fit what ever they need it to fit.

McCullough finally simply writes up a fraudulent police report in which he simply lies by claiming Mrs. Baker did identify me. (See Mcullough's interview with Mrs. Baker.)

Just before trial, my attorney James E. Wallace (1-918-786-3074) calls Mrs. Baker. She tells him she never identified anyone and that she is only to give her description of the killer.

The day of the trial, the police and DA Jerry Truster go over Mrs. Hunt's testimony, teaching her to say the killer had "dark" hair instead of the 3 times known fact that he had brown hair. They also tell her to just leave out all mention of hair length. Since only the police and the witnesses know the killer had short, brown hair, these facts are easy to conceal.

When it comes time for Mrs. Baker to be taught her testimony, DA Truster is appalled to find that there is no signed police statement from her calling me the killer! Worse, she tells him she is not going to call me the killer in court either! He gets the chief investigator (who is McCullough) and tells him to fix the problem or else. They all know they can not trick a jury into convicting anyone without at least 2 people to point their fingers, bare minimum.

McCullough pulls out his false report of his interview and shows it to her. She calls him a liar. He calls her a liar. He and his report are the liars, but McCullough threatens her with jail for "lying to police." Mrs. Baker knows they have her cornered. They will not let her leave. They will put her in jail unless she "cooperates," and helps them all lie me into prison. She agrees to help them trick the jury into putting an innocent boy in prison for the rest of his life so the police won't put her in jail. Lucky for me they could not get the death penalty, else they would have murdered me and no one would ever have found out the facts that the killer escaped to kill again.

The police had no trouble dodging my lawyer's questions about what happened to all this blood they should have had analyzed: McCullough, the chief investigator, simply claimed he had "no knowledge" of any blood being analyzed. (link Scan2)

DA Truster didn't think the jury would believe that not one of over 20 police scrambling around the murder scene collected any blood to have it analyzed. So he concocted his own report about the blood and fed it to the jury during the last second of his second closing argument. This way he could excuse it and never have to prove it with any evidence. His report went like this: he simply said the FBI had sent a report back saying the sample was too small for them to analyze.

This is the most magnificent dodge I have ever heard. The jury and my lawyer, and even I were all too ready to believe the police had not sent enough blood. Worse, we were all too ready to believe that the FBI had "used up" all the blood trying to analyze it. It sounded true, so we all ate it up just like the DA expected us to. Truster's dodge was so good that it took 24 years for someone to ask for proof. Also, the law had to change. Over the past 2 decades the police have been caught stealing evidence so many times that now we have a law that helps make it less hard to get their secret files out into the light where non-police can see them.

What fell out were many proofs of police tampering with witnesses and evidence. It turns out that McCullough himself ordered the blood collected and he the ordered it analyzed by the medical examiner, Dr. Hinkle. (link Scan4) (link Scan6)

In all, 4 police and 3 labs collected and analyzed at least 5 samples of this killer's blood. When not any of it matched my blood, they hid it all and said that it got "used up." Today there are still 2 more samples of this killers blood rotting away in the police warehouse along with 21 of his fingerprints in file 867819 and 11001.

These blood samples and fingerprints are what I've been trying to get analyzed for over 3 years. Over 27 separate judges in 8 different courts have all decided that this killer's blood and fingerprints never get analyzed. They all know I am innocent because the police reports of the 3 eyewitnesses descriptions and drawings all describe someone who had short brown hair at a time when my hair was too long. These 27 judges all know that 3 eyewitnesses who all saw the same thing can't be wrong. These 27 all know that I did not grow 4 inches of hair in 6 days. They all know that each and every prosecution witness at my trial misrepresented what they saw, hid the whole truth and forgot to tell nothing but the truth. They all know I have proved the eyewitnesses and police are all wrong with their own words in their own police reports. These 27 judges all know that fraud occurred when all these drawings, descriptions, blood, fingerprints, witnesses and analyses vanished into police files for 24 years.

So why don't these judges simply order this killer caught? They have their own plan, and its the same plan they always use: deny everything, admit nothing, prevent the facts from getting out, wait until everybody involved dies of old age, retire and forget about the whole mess.

But I don't plan to die soon, and I've got a better plan: everyone can see that the evidence I have comes straight from the police's own mouths. Everyone can see the witnesses were wrong, the police hid all the evidence, the police were wrong. the DA was wrong and that the killer can't be me. The only people who can't see this massive mistake are the police who concocted it and they who are helping to keep it concealed.

Everyone can see this. It is obvious. Because the courts refuse, I’m asking you to help me force them to catch this killer. Please write letters and phone all these involved, asking them sticky questions about why they are hiding this killer's blood and prints. Ask them how many times they've seen short, brown hair explode out of a boy's head and turn into long black hair. Call the congresspeople and ask them why the judges are turning a blind eye to these events.

If you have any questions at all, just write me. It would be best if you sent me a self addressed, stamped envelope, but I will answer every letter I get until my stamps run out.

This killer needs to be stopped.

James Bauhaus

F-2-10 88367

Box 97

McAlester OK 74502

One last note: Buddy was fingerprinted for the first time six years after he murdered Mr. Hunt. Now the 21 fingerprints Tulsa police have can be matched to him. Dan Rather and the FBI recently boasted that this can be done in two hours. They need to do this, and maybe save a life or two.